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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900448">Shattered Masks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose'>EbonyMortisRose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The story of Aubrey Jones [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vampyr (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, M/M, Male Homosexuality, mind control gone wrong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:02:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,965</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Aubery Jones a man who learned from a young age how to navigate the shark-infested waters of high society. A mask for every occasion.<br/>In his class, true men did not cry, and most certainly did not have feelings for the same sex.<br/>But if you had money anything can happen behind closed doors. But what happens when that money is gone, and people see who you really are behind the perfectly crafted facade.<br/>Aubery is about to find out its not only the rich who wear masks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The story of Aubrey Jones [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shattered Masks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The crunching of bone, the rending of flesh. The pitiful dying whine of the fox as the hounds tear it limb from limb. Those same hounds only an hour ago had bounded playfully around him. licking at his hands, barking in excitement.</p><p>He never forgot that first hunt, when his childish innocence was stripped from him. When he learned the hard way that even simple dogs had perfected the art of deception. Portraying outwardly a mask of docile obedience, hiding the bloodthirsty beast beneath.</p><p>One of the hounds raised its bloody muzzle from the guts of the poor now mutilated creature and looked him dead in the eye. Even from atop his horse he remembers not feeling safe. Remembers at that moment never to be fooled by anyone's outward appearance again. Then the dog leapt.</p><p>Aubrey woke with a start , scrambling to catch his rifle before it hit the metal gantry he had perched himself on. How long had he been asleep?</p><p>He looked around at the derelict buildings across from him, and up at the dull evening sky whilst rubbing his eyes. He yawned and slowly stood, rolling the cramp out of his shoulders. Bother he thought, the sun looked like it had just set, he should have reported back at least an hour ago. Mr McCullum was going to have his hide.</p><p>He wanted so badly to prove to them that he was worthy of their ranks. He couldn't help his upbringing, his private schooling, his teenier at Cambridge. He tried so hard to dumb down his speech, but the moment he opened his mouth they knew he was a West End toff in dockers clothing, and treat him with suspicion. What was his kind doing here, what did he know of suffering?</p><p>None of them called him by his Christian name Jones, instead referring to him as 'Toffy'. He didn't mind, he had never had a nickname before and it made him feel partially accepted.</p><p>If it were not for the fact he was bally good at shooting, he felt he would have been cast out by now. That one brutish pursuit his father had forced him to learn at a very young age so that he could join in on the hunts across a nearby estate.</p><p>Grouse, deer, rabbit. He had winced with every thunderous crack of his rifle. Praying each time missing his target would look like an accident, and that when he did hit the poor things they didn't suffer long. He'd even cried those first few times, and father had taken his whip to him once back behind closed doors.</p><p>Telling him to man up, that he had enough of his childish weak pursuits. Referring to his love of painting, poetry and horticulture. He was especially fond of collecting rare flowers and pressing them. Learning their meaning and even secretly helping with arrangements around the home and gardens.</p><p>When his mother died giving birth to his stillborn sister, his father took to drink and frequented the opium dens of China town on a too regular basis. More pressure was put upon him being the only son, to take on more and more of the estate's responsibilities.</p><p>It was a godsend when he finally was old enough to attend Cambridge University. There he met true gentlemen, of course, amongst them, there were sons of lords who sneered down at him from their silver perches. But he by now had perfected the art of deception and the upper-class mask of civility.</p><p>His father may have nearly gambled away all of the family's fortunes, and the household staff were only staying on because they had been offered rooms at the house. But to the outside world, the Jones were still considered part of the upper echelons of society.</p><p>He give a sad smile remembering the day he met Percy Hallwood. He went on to invite him to a discreet gentlemen's club that allowed him to be himself, at the right price of course. It was such a relief to finally be in the company of other men who felt the way he did. Who were not ashamed of their ungodly thoughts. He was so happy then, now it almost seemed like that life happened to someone else.</p><p>He screws up his eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming and blinks furiously looking up at the dark clouds. The moon was illuminating them from beneath, casting everything below in shades of silver and grey.</p><p>His descent into this hell began with a telegraph a year ago, informing him of his father's death. He'd been found slumped on a bench in Hyde Park, stripped of any valuables. His death no doubt due to drink or drugs, but probably both.</p><p>He was now head of a crumbling empire and knew it wouldn't be long before the creditors came looking for him. He couldn't afford to stay at Cambridge, his dreams of joining a law firm shattered by the selfishness of a broken man. He'd thought to salvage some money through the sale of the estate. To maybe be taken on as clerks apprentice and downgrade to a more modest townhouse. But he found to his dismay that his father had gambled away the deeds to the house and land it stood on. All he had was the money in his private account and the clothes on his back, and of course dear Percy.</p><p>He takes in a deep breath trying to swallow the growing lump in his throat, as the memories of that horrible night return. Staggering out of the club, an arm around his lover. He doesn't know why, or how they made it to Stonebridge cemetery. Especially so late at night, without being accosted by either beggars, or the ruffians in red scarves he had seen about. He now knew as the guards of Priwen.</p><p>He just remembered wanting to stand over the old man's grave, and scream and curse at the man now that no masks had to be worn. He'd been the dutiful son. He'd kept up appearances at the funeral, trying to save money where possible. The mourners had seen his father laid out in an exquisite ebony coffin, with silver metalwork. lined with fine silk worthy of any lord. What they didn't see was him paying the funeral director the rental fee of the coffin and having the old bastard cremated and crammed into a 10 shilling box.</p><p>He didn't know about the murders that had been happening in the east end. He didn't know about the monsters that lurked In the shadows, made up of tortured souls of the damned forced to walk the earth. Seeking out the flesh of the living like some Penny Dreadful story. The East end was a different world to him, it might as well have been another country, he never had reason venture there. If he had just paid more attention to what was going on outside of his social bubble, maybe, just maybe he could have saved his love.</p><p>The Jone's had a crypt alongside other landowners on the west side of the cemetery made of white marble. A single metal gate covered the entrance to his family's resting place, and inside the 12ft by 12ft space, there was room for six coffins. Three stacked either side, bricked up and plastered over. With a brass plaque on the front of each stating who was interred there. There was a gap on the top right hand side reserved for him, and he remembered wondering how soon it would be before he would fill that spot, with this terrible influenza in the air now that he was destitute.</p><p>He looked down at his father's marker, polished to the point it almost looked gold in this gloomy light. But it was plated, fake, yet another pathetic attempt to keep up appearances even in death. In this private place, he'd allowed himself to cry and Percy had slipped his hand into his own, thinking the tears that rolled down his cheeks were ones of grief. In a way they were, but not for his father, but for the death of this life, the life he had with him. The life society would never accept, not without money to stop tongues wagging. At worst they could be arrested and hanged.</p><p>He remembers that horrid cry, at first he thought it to be a fox, somewhere amongst the tombs. Echoing his own melancholy, so mournful almost as if it were in pain.</p><p>Percy had looked out into the darkness and remarked ''Do you hear that Berry, what the devil is it, a banshee?''</p><p>He'd sniffed and smiled saying ''You always had such an overactive imagination old sport. It's merely a fox crying out for its kin.''</p><p>''Are you sure?" he asked, " blasted thing sounds like it's in agony."</p><p>He remembers playing with the flower display in front of his father's marker. A bunch of tiger lily's, his own private message to the man of how much he resented him.</p><p>Percy had brushed his cheek then pecked it and said ''Well I need to water the daisies, I shall check on poor Mr fox too."</p><p>He'd staggered out into the jaws of death. God help him, he will never forget the screeching cries of that creature almost drowning out his terrified ones. The wailing agony of a dying man is a sound that reverberates through your very soul. Especially one that cries out your name, begging for help.</p><p>Within moments he had followed the gurgling screams past a weeping angel sprawled across a tombstone. It's face hidden in the depths of its marble white hands, not wanting to watch what was happening at its feet. At the base of the tomb was what appeared to be a ruffian, a beggar in tattered clothing.</p><p>There were no lanterns in these streets of the dead, and only the moonlight lit up the gruesome scene. Percy lay prone on his back, the man straddled him, his back to Aubrey. There was the sickening sound of crunching bone and tearing flesh, and he remembers how Percy's feet spasmed and twitch as the man tore into his throat. His arm was outstretched towards him, his fingers twitching, no longer having the strength to raise and beat this thing off.</p><p>The clouds then parted casting a silver ray of moonlight onto his dying face. ho god his face. It had taken on a rictus of abject terror, and when his eyes locked with his, there was a sad finality there. He knew he was beyond help, and with his last ounce of strength, he watched him silently mouth through bloodied lips. 'RUN!'</p><p>But he couldn't, he couldn't leave him, not to be devoured by that rabid mad man. He remembers looking around searching the shadows for anything to use as a weapon. Then scurrying back to his father's vault.</p><p>The flowers that had been left there were now starting to wilt, but the arrangement wires and pins were still in place. Frantically he had pulled two long pins free. They were that same type used to fix ladies' hair and hats in place and were fiendishly sharp and a foot long. He had run back like a man possessed, screaming with rage and leapt onto the things back, which was still crouched over Percy's body, driving the pins over and over and over into the thing's neck.</p><p>It had given a hellish screech, arching up, trying to dislodge him. But he had wrapped his legs around its waste and continued his frenzied attack, stabbing again and again. The thing had flailed about, reaching over its shoulders, racking long inhuman claws down his forearms. But he was beyond feeling any pain, his world had turned red and with each puncture, black blood gushed from torn arteries.</p><p>It then managed to fall onto its back, pinning him beneath it and so he turned his attacks to its face. Jabbing over and over. At one point hitting the soft recess of an eye with such force it slid in and he felt it hit the back wall of its skull inside. This only caused it to jolt its head back, hitting him in the face, busting his nose. His eyes immediately filling with water and in this near darkness partially blinded him, halting his assault.</p><p>The thing took this opportunity to roll off him scrambling away onto all fours. Frantically he had wiped at his eyes trying to ignore the throbbing pain radiating out from his nose, and swallowed, tasting blood that was now trickling down the back of his throat. He remembers lifting his head and squinting into the gloom, and seeing this rotting nightmare grinning back at him at his feet.</p><p>It wasn't a living maniac, but a corpse. The corpse of a person that had died of this influenza. He saw signs of the sickness, black pustules dotted its rotting face. Its hair was missing in clumps, its clothes a patchwork of dark stains, a mixture of old blood and vomit. But the worst thing about it was its remaining eye, like a window into hell, black as night. The other wept black puss and blood, and still had the pin extruding from it. It made no move to remove it and slowly rose to a crouching position, then threw back its head and let out a wrenched wail. Displaying rows of shark-like teeth.</p><p>Then its head exploded. One moment it was there, the next there was a large explosion, and black ichor rained down on him. The thing had staggered for a moment, then toppled over, its vile blood oozing out onto the flagstones. He had scrambled over and with the remaining pin stabbed at it in the chest, over and over. Screaming incomprehensible words. He didn't stop, even when he heard an Irishman say.</p><p>''whoa lad, it's dead.''</p><p>That man was Geoffrey McCullum, leader of the Guard of Priwen. A group dedicated to ridding the world of these abominations and that night, the night he had truly lost everything he had sworn fealty to him. McCullum had seen in him the need for vengeance and helped him channel that hatred for these things, teaching him all he knew, how to spot a leech, and how to dispose of them.</p><p>He looks at his modified Enfield rifle, the only thing he hadn't pawned and was about to sling it over his shoulder and go back to the barracks when movement below caught his eye. It was a man moving close to the walls, face obscured by a flat cap and body wrapped in a long dark coat. This was a bad neighborhood for taking a stroll, and so slowly he moved his rifle around and peered through the scope at the figure.</p><p>The moon was high in the sky now and thankfully the fog that was about was not too thick for him to make out the familiar features of Geoffrey McCullum. What was he doing out here on his own he wondered. At least he wasn't unarmed, he noticed he wore his trademark hand crossbow fixed to his left wrist over his coat. He thought far be it for him to question his leader's motives, but curiosity got the better of him and so he remained in position, three floors up above street level, looking down at him through his scope.</p><p>He watched as he came to a halt by the mouth of an alley, took off his cap and tucked it into his pocket, and then looked around as if waiting for someone.</p><p>Aubrey nearly dropped his rifle with what he saw next. It was documented that Dr. Reid, a doctor who worked at the Pembroke hospital was a leech. But bizarrely McCullum had ordered the guard not to engage with him unless provoked. He of course along with other recruits were not happy with this order, but he was their leader and he must have had his reasons.</p><p>The leech doctor had just appeared right next to McCullum. He hadn't run out of the alley, or down the street. He'd just appeared, did he see black mist just before or was that a trick of the light?</p><p>He readied for a head shot, thinking the thing was going to attack Mr. McCullum. When McCullum grabbed the doctor by his coat lapel's and pulled him to him and kissed him passionately on the lips. Aubrey's mouth dropped open.</p><p>He had always thought McCullum was a handsome man. Admiring from afar, his athletic build, and roguish charm. He was every ounce 'the man' his father wanted him to be. He just couldn't believe what he was seeing, he had to be still dreaming. This couldn't be happening he thought. After training with McCullum, and getting to know his men he learnt that he too had a predilection for the male sex. In the lower classes, this wasn't much of a faux pas, but would still get some ridicule. But this wasn't just a man, it was a leech.</p><p>He couldn't look away, a mixture a shock, horror, and sheer disbelief rooted him to the spot. He watched as their hands moved inside each other coats, caressing, groping, squeezing.</p><p>He tried to swallow but found all his saliva in his mouth had evaporated. He felt flushed and ashamed that he was actually starting to have feelings of arousal at this unbelievable sight.</p><p>The leech doctor began to kiss McCullum's chin, then nuzzled at his neck, at the same time his hand slid down inside his waistband, towards his crotch. McCullum rolled his head back, eyes closed, mouth open in a silent moan, and that's when he saw the fangs. Geoffrey McCullum's leader of the Guard of Priwen had fangs.</p><p>''Good God!'' he cried out realising too late the words were not just screamed in his mind but out of his mouth. To add insult to injury in his startled state he had squeezed the trigger and let off a shot.</p><p>He fell backwards and scrambled towards the window he had climbed out of to get out onto this ledge. Hearing in those horrifying few seconds McCullum cry out. ''Reid!''</p><p>He'd backed up to the windows ledge and was about to turn around to climb in when two vice-like hands grabbed him painfully by the shoulders and dragged him into the room. Within seconds he had been spun, grabbed around the throat, and slammed into the nearby wall with such force the rotting boards behind him cracked.</p><p>He clawed at the hand at his throat, trying to draw back in the air that had been bashed out of his lungs. But only managed to wheeze a pathetic.</p><p>
  <em>"Please..." </em>
</p><p>The room was only lit by the moonlight from the window, and thankfully he had not lit a lantern so his night vision quickly adapted to the gloom of the room. His assailant's face was in shadow, but through eyes now spotted with white flecks he could make out the familiar red scarf of a Priwen member and attached to the man's left arm at his side was McCullum's crossbow.</p><p>He was holding him up against the wall with one hand as if he were a child. His feet kicked frantically for purchase on a floor that was just out of reach. He was going to die. This was it he thought.</p><p>Then as before Doctor Reid was suddenly in the room. He strode over placing a hand on McCullum's shoulder and in a deep reassuring tone said.</p><p>"Geoffrey, I'm alright. My coat will have to go to the tailors again, and yet another silk shirt is ruined. But no real harm is done."</p><p>And with that McCullum let him go, he sagged to his knees coughing and spluttering for air, rubbing his bruised neck. He watched as if not believing the doctor's words, McCullum had turned and ran a hand over one of the doctors shoulders, probing a bullet hole in the leather with a finger.</p><p>He then spun to face Aubrey, now standing in the light of the window he could see the man's face fully. How had he not noticed how pale it was before, and those eyes. It was like being stared at by a wolf, and he suddenly felt like a cornered fox.</p><p>He risked flicking he gaze over to the leech doctor and he too had the same type of eyes, pale, dead, undead hounds on the hunt.</p><p>His legs were trembling under him and he could feel his bladder was about to explode, but he managed to slowly get to his feet. Eyes darting from McCullum to the doctor wondering who will lung for him first.</p><p>He reaches up and pulls out his rosary and holds it up in front of him cursing his hand for shaking. <em>'Man up Aubrey.'</em> he can hear his father yelling from beyond the grave, and he tries so hard in his final moments to go out like a man.</p><p>''Get back, I know what you are. How long have you been lying to us, wearing a mask of humanity?''</p><p>McCullum looks away, he doesn't know if it's the effect of the cross or shame, but he doesn't raise his head to look at him when he replies.</p><p>"You know better than all of us about wearing masks lad. This is ma true face, and aye, I am a monster. But I tell you now, I haven't and never will take a life. I'm still McCullum, I'm still a soldier of god. I'm still the same man who helped ya put your Percy ta rest.''</p><p>On hearing this facsimile of life speak his beloveds name, he was suddenly filled with a rush of fool hardened bravery.</p><p>''Don't you speak his name beast!''</p><p>He couldn't stop the tears running down his hot face, he felt so betrayed. The image of Percy's outstretched hand flashed across his mind, his dead eyes staring pleading. like those of the dying fox.</p><p>''That night in the graveyard, were you a vampire then?''</p><p>McCullum just nods.</p><p>He's horrified, shaking his head, this was all too much.</p><p>''My god, how many others in the guard are leeches?''</p><p>McCullum looks up at the cross in his hand, then straight into his eyes. There was that predator, ready to pounce.</p><p>''It's just me lad, me and Reid.'' he nods over at the doctor who has been watching this exchange with a growing look of concern.</p><p>''Look lad, I'm not ready ta leave the guard mi men need me.''</p><p>''No! they have to know. This is not some frivolous charade to keep up appearances. You're a wolf in sheep's clothing!''</p><p>McCullum turns and begins to pace, running a frustrated hand through his short brown hair, and begins to mutter in Irish, of which Aubrey could only pick out the odd curse word.</p><p>The doctor then speaks, again in that soothing deep baritone. ''Geoffrey, maybe it is time?''</p><p>McCullum spins, a look of fury on his face and waves a finger at the leech doctor.</p><p>''No! God granted me tha ability ta hide mi nature from mi men for a reason. No, not yet!''</p><p>Then before he can react McCullum had grabbed him by the upper arms and was staring at him once more with those ice blue dead eyes. They seemed to burn straight into his very soul.</p><p><strong>''Why can't ya just forget ya saw me damn it!!'</strong>'</p><p>Then his world went black.</p><p>''Jones?....Aubrey?''</p><p>McCullum shuck the lad by his arms, but he just continued to stare straight through him unblinking.</p><p>''Fuck Reid, I think I broke him?''</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>To be continued?............................<br/><br/><br/>Master Aubrey Jones - Before his fall from grace. (Tom Mison)<br/><br/><br/></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aubrey Jones is my OC. I went with the idea of what if McCullum has never mesmerised anyone before and does this to a poor rookie out of sheer frustration at being found out to be a vampire and just wanting him to forget he saw him.<br/>I don't know if I will continue this story or if poor Aubery will end up in Bedlam well see.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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